


mystery colors

by osborns



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, undetermined time period, yikes! they're cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osborns/pseuds/osborns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“This is stupid, but it’s like breathing or something. You know?” Mickey blurts out. He watches how Ian’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, golden freckles scattered. How his tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips, and how his stomach rises and falls with each breath he takes. Mickey runs his fingers over Ian’s stomach and decides he loves the way Ian Gallagher breathes.</p><p>“Yeah,” Ian breaks into a small smile, “Yeah, I get that. Like a heartbeat, too.” His fingertips tap in a <i>thump thump</i> against Mickey’s chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mystery colors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andchaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/gifts).



> For [Alex](http://badlandd.tumblr.com/): And[ this](http://hadenromero.tumblr.com/post/125201755628/established-relationship-aus) prompt even though it's barely part of this at all tbh
> 
> Cameo mention of [Mickey's canon cat](http://noelfshr.tumblr.com/post/98347261611/more-so-mandy-and-mickey-totally-have-a)

Mickey knows he looks pathetic, on the floor leaning against the fridge, sucking on blocks of ice and free of clothes. The floor’s cold though, the ice is refreshing, and he’s getting a nice breeze on his skin without clothes blocking him. He jumps in his spot when Ian shuffles in. Ian arches his eyebrows, and Mickey flips him off from his spot on the ground.

“You doing okay?” Ian reaches down to run a hand through Mickey’s sweaty hair.

“Ian, it’s 100 fucking degrees. The piece of shit AC is broken. I’m sitting in the middle of the kitchen bare fuckin’ naked like a Jersey Shore poser, eating goddamn ice. What part of this nightmare screams _I’m doing great_ to you?”

Mickey only has to see Ian’s resting glare for a second before he glances away and grabs another ice cube. It would sound nice, despite the heat in the house, to fuck like rabbits all day instead of slaving off at work. Working construction in the sun is much less appealing.

“I’m not going to work,” he evidently decides loudly.

Ian sighs, pulls off his tank top and boxers, and plops next to Mickey on the floor tiles. Mickey forces his eyes from Ian’s lap to his face. “We’ll call in,” he says, sneaking a kiss on Mickey’s cheek, “say we’re sick with heat stroke, or some shit. That sound good?”

Ian’s beam contorts in pleasure when Mickey wraps a hand around his dick.

* * *

“I gotta say, Mick,” Ian grins, switching the last of their four fans on high, “I like seeing you so naked and sweaty.” In spite of the fans circling the bed, they really only seem to be blowing hot air, leaving Mickey moaning and spread out like a starfish face down across the damp sheets.

“Go suck a dick.”

Ian snorts and collapses back into the bed. “Your dick?”

“If it’ll get you to stop yapping, sure,” Mickey replies easily, lifting his head. The bed shifts as Ian flips onto his belly and inches closer, pecking Mickey on the lips with a soft smooch.

“Here,” Ian reaches for the small table on his side of the bed, where a six pack of cold beer is sitting. “Gotta stay hydrated, right?” Mickey just barely catches the can he tosses over. Laughing airily, Ian sits up and cracks his can open, taking a long sip.

“I bet you’d suck at basketball,” he teases, snickering at Mickey's poor catching and sneaking a look at the other boy sprawled across the bed. It’s obvious he’s making an effort to rile Mickey up, and Mickey knows, but it does nothing to stop the angry defensiveness bubble up in him.

“Fuck you, man. You’ve never seen me play.” Despite himself, Mickey laughs.

“I’d pay real money to see you try and dunk it.”

“I could reach the damn hoop without even jumping, fuck you very much.” Mickey eases up, a smile spreading across his face when he sees Ian bent over himself laughing.

Thanks to the summer sun, Ian’s freckles have been prominent for the last month or so, and Mickey hates himself for admiring them so many times in one day. Aside from the ones on his face, he thinks Ian’s shoulder freckles are his favorite. They’re smattered across the sun-kissed skin like fucking stars. Whenever Ian laughs, the small freckles on his cheeks and nose look even more beautiful, the spots on his eyelids creasing. It’s fucking hypnotizing. It reminds Mickey of puppy-faced Ian, with floppy bangs and gold freckles on every inch of his skin.

Ian lies down again, leaning against the pillow, and Mickey follows. “You were good at baseball,” Ian recalls. “Good with a bat.”

Mickey wishes he could remember Ian more clearly, back in their little league days. He remembers a curly mop of orange hair and skinny awkward limbs. And freckles, christ—so many freckles. His hitting aim hadn’t been great, but he could sprint faster than anyone on the team, racing around the bases on freckled legs too long for his body.

“I used to do karate,” Ian says, reminiscent.

“Really?”

“Yeah, man.” He slouches further into the pillows. When Ian rests his head on Mickey’s shoulder, Mickey immediately leans into the touch. “Broke a kid’s leg once. I was pretty damn good.”

“I’d rather box or wrestle, or some shit. Dirtier fighting, you know? Could fuckin’ body slam some punk bitch and break five of his bones instead of just one,” Mickey grins and imagines the possibilities, of kicking his dad’s ass when he was young and being the hero and whisking Mandy away to someplace new.

Ian wraps his arm around Mickey’s arm. Mickey glances down and gets caught up in the visible freckles he can see, across the apple of Ian’s cheek and around his cute rounded nose. His orange curls splayed over his forehead, untouched because of the lazy summer heat.                  

“Hey,” Ian’s voice jerks Mickey out of his thoughts, “Tell me a secret.” Mickey arches an eyebrow, and blinks at how open Ian’s expression was. How he could smile without actually smiling.

“A secret?” he scoffs. “Why?”

“Because I want to know more about you.” Now Ian’s beaming again, and Mickey almost has to look away because that funny feeling in his heart was back again. Ian already knows enough about him, anyway. More than anyone else knows, at least. But Ian is relentless, and there’s something about that twinkle in his eyes that makes it impossible for Mickey to resist.

Mickey furrows his brows. “You know a lot about me already.”

“I know your favorite color is black. I know you like some weird music that I’ve never even heard of. I know Mickey is a nickname and that I can’t pronounce your real name, and I know your cat is fat and old and ugly, but you love it anyway.”

“He isn’t fat or old _or_ ugly, you jackass.”

“Not the point and you know it,” Ian finalizes. “I know a lot about you, but not everything.”

“What do you want me to tell you?” Unintentionally, his words come out nervous and slightly shaky.

Sensing his nerves, Ian tangles their fingers together and squeezes gently. “It’s okay. I’ll tell you one first.” Mickey feels the faint heat of a blush against his shoulder, where Ian’s cheek is leaning. “Back when we were working at the Kash and Grab, I had the biggest crush on you—"

“That ain’t a fucking secret.”

“Let me finish,” Ian laughs and pinches his hand. Mickey hides his smile in Ian’s hair. “I had the biggest crush on you and I was obsessed with your smile. I had it real bad. I used to see how many times I could make you smile everyday, and count each time. Try to beat my record.”

“Jesus, Perez Hilton.” Mickey lets out a laugh and raises his eyebrows, pushing back the butterflies in his stomach. “What’s so great about a smile?”

“ _Your_ smile, not _a_ smile,” Ian corrects, looking up at Mickey sheepishly, “It lights up your whole face. Makes me really happy when I see it.” Mickey wonders if the feeling Ian gets is similar to the feeling he gets himself, when Ian kisses him and touches his skin. He hopes it is, because Ian deserves to feel like that all the time.

Avoiding Ian’s eyes, Mickey exhales, “Yeah, yeah, you big sap,” but looks down and smiles softly in private. “I still have to tell you a secret now?”

“Don’t think you were gonna getting out of it.”

“I, uh…” Heartbeat quickening, Mickey swipes his thumb against his lip and says, “I've never kissed anyone but you. 'Cept Svetlana, but that was barely a kiss and barely even on her fucking mouth."

Ian pauses, sits up more so he's level with Mickey. "I didn't know that."

"It ain't a huge thing."

It shouldn't be, but Mickey knows his expression is giving it away. And Ian's giving him that look again, warm and fond and a smile toying at his lips. He squeezes Mickey's anxious, fidgety fingers, rubbing the rough tattooed knuckles gently with his thumb, and leans in to kiss Mickey slow and sweet. Mickey presses his body closer, turning to the side to face him. "It's dumb," he murmurs against Ian, but Ian just shakes his head and strokes Mickey's shoulder with his other hand.

"Not dumb," Ian says after pulling apart just slightly. "I'd give anything for you to be the only person I've ever kissed."

"Doesn't matter, though. We're fucking here now, right?" Mickey runs his fingers down Ian's bare side. He remembers the nerves he had gotten before kissing him the first time (even the second and third and fourth), worrying if he'd be good enough at kissing for Ian, before rolling his eyes at the idea and stomping it into the ground beneath his feet.

"Yeah." Ian whispers. "We're right here."

* * *

 Sometimes they don’t talk. It’s still nice, relaxing—fingers stroking each other and exchanges of secret smiles. Mickey’s draped on the sheets, thankfully getting used to the heated air. The feeling of Ian rubbing small circles onto Mickey’s leg is soothing, too, and with Ian lying further down on the bed with his head by Mickey’s thighs, Mickey fondles Ian’s hair mindlessly.

“You don’t know how beautiful your legs are, do you?” Ian breaks into a small smile. His pupils are blown. Shifting so he’s hovering below Mickey’s torso, he presses a tauntingly soft kiss against Mickey’s inner thigh. “You don’t even know.”

Mickey gulps as Ian’s lips slowly bypass his dick, dragging across his hips and stopping at his stomach. “Or here?” Ian asks, “D’you know about here?” His thumb strokes the soft skin of Mickey’s belly and a trailing wet kiss turns into a bite. Mickey’s hands find their way into Ian’s curls again. He’s positive Ian can tell how fast Mickey’s heart is now racing all of a sudden just through the shaking of his fingers, but he can’t bring himself to care, not at this point.

“What about here?” Mickey feels a thick kiss against his jaw, Ian’s breath ghosting over him hot and heavy. Swallowing loudly, Mickey closes his eyes and tightens his grip in Ian’s hair. There’s nobody else, nothing else, just them, and it’s all too much to understand. Strands of Ian’s hair fall and brush against Mickey’s skin as Ian kisses up his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose. Just them.

“Tell me, Mick, you gotta know that you’re so beautiful right here.” He bites down on Mickey’s lower lip, who whines, pressing up for more friction. “Tell me.”

“Fuck,” Mickey gasps out. “Fuck, fine, I didn’t know.”

Ian is everywhere, grinding his hips down against Mickey’s. “I’ll make you know.” It’s unbearable, their dicks dragging against each other too slow for satisfaction, but just enough to leave Mickey sweating and in bliss. He hitches a thigh around Ian’s waist, backing up a little so they’re propped up by the pile of pillows. As he pushes closer, Ian spits into his palm and reaches between them, wrapping his large hand around Mickey's cock and pumping slowly but firmly. Mickey's head lolls back in pleasure and relief. Completely concentrated, Ian grips Mickey’s other leg and Mickey spreads them open wider to help.

It’s a good thing they’re already naked, because Mickey doesn’t know if they would’ve had the patience to undress themselves. Sweat is dampening the sheets and he’s not sure if it’s from the summer heat or how hard he’s breathing.

He blinks back to focus when the pressure is taken off his dick to see Ian uncapping the tube of lube. “Fuck, Ian, hurry the fuck up,” he gasps out with no real venom. He’s so hard it’s beginning to be painful, and Ian’s not helping, clearly taking his time squirting some of the lube onto his fingers and stroking his own cock. “I need you, c’mon.”

“You need me, huh?” Ian smirks. It’s full of fondness, though, and he kisses Mickey sweet and steady with a hand brushing against his temple. Mickey opens his mouth to deepen it but a loud moan lets out instead when two lubed fingers press into his asshole, scissoring slightly already. When Ian curls them directly against his spot, he groans again, fingers gripping Ian’s shoulders.

It’s hot in the room. Ian has sweat in his hair, small droplets forming in his hairline and clumps of curls hanging over his forehead. Mickey parts an inch or two to thread his hands in Ian’s hair and comb the strands back, as he breathes heavily and looks gently at Ian. Christ, he can’t even help it anymore. He feels the furrow in his brow start to soften in pleasure when Ian slides a third finger in, resting their foreheads together.

“Jesus, get in me before I come from just this.” The desperation in Mickey’s voice should embarrass him, but it doesn’t.

One of his hands slides behind Ian’s neck, playing with the short red hairs. He lets out a whine when Ian slips his fingers out, feeling too separated from him all of a sudden, but it’s soon replaced with Ian’s head pushing into him, and the familiar blissful sting of pain that Mickey can’t seem to get enough of.

He hisses, grip tightening as Ian pushes in further, and Ian searches Mickey’s face for any signs of too much pain. Mickey wraps his arm around Ian’s neck to pull him closer. Ian bottoms out, but it’s just background behind the waves of pleasure, behind their breaths mixing together like some sort of secret. He can’t help but smile widely, a soft burst of laughter with it. At the sound, Ian smiles too, tilts his head and leans in the extra inch to melt against Mickey’s lips, wet and passionate.

Ian’s fucking him slow, holding his waist. When he starts rolling his hips deeper, faster, Mickey squeezes his eyes shut, his fingernails clutching at Ian’s warm shoulders. He’d have bruises all over by the next day.

Ian adjusts Mickey’s hips just a bit, and suddenly every thrust is hitting him just right. It’s too fucking much, but also just enough, and Mickey moves to press his face into Ian’s neck. His legs grip tighter around Ian’s waist, trying to relieve the pressure on his dick by rubbing against Ian. Understanding the message, Ian reaches a hand down to Mickey’s cock, swiping the precum with his thumb and fisting in time with his thrusts. “Shit, I’m—” he gasps against Ian’s sweaty skin, “Ian, please—”

“Shh, I got you, Mick. I do,” Ian whispers. Mickey props himself up on an elbow, head falling back at a particular hard thrust and his lips dropping open. Heat pools up in the pit of his stomach. He can feel his hair, sweaty and messy, falling and sticking to his forehead, and his skin warm and flushed.

Ian's filling him up like they’re connected, like they share the same blood and heart and lungs. His skin is smooth—Mickey wants to memorize every curve and freckle and scar over and over again.

“Mick, look at me.” Ian’s expression matches his voice, gentle and desperate. Mickey relents, raising his eyes to meet Ian’s and holding back grunts. Ian’s hand reaches to push Mickey’s hair out of his eyes, and he cups his jaw, tells him, “God, baby, you look beautiful.”

“You’re stupid.” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He’s so close to the edge and, holding onto Ian as tight as he can, spills into Ian’s hand with a burst of white hot pleasure thick in the air. It feels like it lasts forever, especially with Ian continuing to roll his hips into him deep, and with Ian’s hands everywhere on him, running over his sides and chest and face. Ian tucks his face into Mickey’s jaw, letting Mickey ride out his orgasm before pulling out and stroking himself to the finish wirh a groan soon afterwards.

Eyes shut and breathing heavily, Mickey relaxes against the pillows again. Ian collapses on top of him, wrapped tight, and Mickey’s never felt happier than this. He threads a hand into Ian’s curls and kisses his forehead. There’s too much he needs to say, about his heart bursting out of his chest when he’s this close to Ian, about this weird desire to take him and never let him go.

“You’re a piece of fuckin’ work,” he says instead. Burrowing deeper into Mickey’s neck, Ian starts to laugh.

* * *

“I’m really happy,” Ian mumbles out.

Brain on autopilot, Mickey reaches across the small space between them and runs his thumb over Ian’s lower lip. His heart warms when Ian leans into the touch, clearly beginning to doze off. The heat had broken a couple hours ago. Ian could nestle into the pillows and sheets comfortably now, his hair flopped messy and curly onto his forehead. “Happy, hm?” Mickey smiles.

Ian nods. Mickey just barely catches the “I’m in love with you,” he murmurs out with it. His heart clenches, even though this isn’t the first time they had exchanged the words—they have the same effect on him every damn time.

“You too,” he breathes out a humorless laugh, but smiles softly again after. It feels weird, being wide awake but so relaxed at the same time. _Good_ weird, and it starts with Ian. It always did.

Eyes still closed, Ian’s lips stretches into a smile, and he teases gingerly, “You love me?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“What’s it like?”

“What kind of fucking question is that?” Mickey asks, blushing. The couple inches between their faces seem closer, all of a sudden, like their own little world. Just them.

With a shrug Ian leans in, pressing warm lazy kisses against Mickey’s neck. Mickey closes his eyes and takes each one in, before Ian relaxes, content, onto his back. His expression and every inch of his face is softened, and _god_ , Mickey is so fucking in love. He leans on his elbow to look down at Ian.

“This is stupid, but it’s like breathing or something. You know?” Mickey blurts out. He watches how Ian’s eyelashes flutter against his cheeks, golden freckles scattered. How his tongue darts out to wet his chapped lips, and how his stomach rises and falls with each breath he takes. Mickey runs his fingers over Ian’s stomach and decides he loves the way Ian Gallagher breathes.

“Yeah,” Ian breaks into a small smile, “Yeah, I get that. Like a heartbeat, too.” His fingertips tap in a _thump thump_ against Mickey’s chest.

Subconsciously, Mickey weaves their fingers together and brings the tips of Ian’s to his mouth, kissing them softly. He’s beginning to get drowsy, too. The air in the room is heavy, and Ian’s skin is warm to touch, luring a yawn out of Mickey. “Get some sleep, okay?” He runs a hand through Ian’s curls and lays his head next to his, nuzzling in. “I’ll make breakfast in the morning.”

Ian falls asleep in an instant. Mickey knows the exact moment, by his breaths evening out and his lips parting the slightest bit. He’s not exactly sure how he knows that their heartbeats are in time with each other, but they are. Mickey closes his eyes, takes a moment to match his breathing with Ian’s. Sleep comes quickly.

**Author's Note:**

> [captainholt.tumblr.com](http://captainholt.tumblr.com)


End file.
